Ghost

I am afraid of ghosts.

I’m scared of their secret movements and their sacred space, trying to interfere with mortals lives and feed off their emotions

I’m afraid of their unpredictability.

When will they scare me again? Will they come at night and tug on my toes like they’ve tugged on my heartstrings one too many times

Will they come in the morning and hide behind me in the mirror while I’m brushing my teeth

Will they creep down the hallways and only haunt me with the sound of their footsteps

I am afraid of ghosts.

But I know they cannot hurt me

If I don’t acknowledge their existence then I can’t let them hurt me and I can wield them off as easy as the sign of the cross

I know that the more I am afraid of seeing a ghost the more likely it is for them to haunt me

I know that standing up to one will make me banish it and by telling its disembodied footsteps to stop following me will make them slowly vanish

So I’m only sometimes afraid of ghosts.

One day I will only hear a faint whisper or see something from the corner of my eye but it’ll be a far cry from the devil that’s once been inside.

So one day the pain from a haunting will only be a scary story I tell by a campfire in a warm summer’s night

And one day I won’t be afraid of ghosts.

Because I know they only exist in the dark corners of my mind, and that some ghosts, are actually kind.